30 Kisses Billy Keikeya May or Maynot Have Had
by A.j
Summary: A series of short fic wherein Billy Keikeya gets kissed. BillyVarious
1. look over here

30 Kisses That May or May Not Have Been Given Or Received By Billy KeikeyaAuthor: A.j.  
Rating: PG-13 and under.  
Spoilers: Assume spoilers up through _Lay Down Your Burdens_.

Notes: Tangentially related to the community "30Kisses" over on Livejournal, but only in that it totally gave me the idea and prompts.

---

1. _look over here_

One moment Billy is watching the transport stewards preparing the gate for embarkation and mentally calculating just _how_ he's going to introduce himself to the Secretary of Education, and the next moment, his arms and face are full of curvy good-smelling woman.

The fact that she tastes of cinnamon and sugar barely has the chance to register before she pulls back, grinning up at him and, inexplicably, pointing at her hat.

"Bobby's Rugelach! For all your rugelach needs!"

Her voice is smoky and makes him think of all the art house movies his ex-roommate forced him to sit through when trying to impress a girl with his geek cred. Or maybe a jazz singer. Not rugelach though. Definitely doesn't make him think of rugelach.

"Excuse me, what?" Brain finally catching up, he backs away from the small woman, finally allowing himself to sputter. "Why did you just kiss me? Who are you?"

Bouncing slightly in place - don't look down, Billy, don't look down - the woman points at her hat again. "I'm advertising for that shop over there. I wanted to make you look."

"So you randomly go around kissing people waiting for transports?" His voice went a little high there at the end. Possibly something he should work on.

The little redhead just grinned at him. "Beats frying potatoes."

Billy stared at her, somehow working more incredulity onto his face.

The woman laughed then. Long and deep, folding a little at the waste. Behind him, Billy vaguely heard the announcement that his transport was starting to board.

"Oh, honey," she said when she was finally upright again. "You are just the cutest thing ever. No, I don't kiss everyone. You just... You looked like you needed it."

"Uh.. okay? I have to go now." Gods save him from crazy women in advertising outfits.

"Just remember! Bobby's Rugelach for all your pastry needs!"

Billy looks back over his shoulder on his way through the gate. The woman is still grinning at him and waving.

Against all logic, he raises a hand and waves back.

Ten minutes later the whole thing is forgotten, lost in a fog of _Galactica_ facts and nerves.


	2. news letter

2. news; letter

"Billy!"

Billy groaned and stared up at the ceiling above his bed. He was not in the mood to deal with his sister today. Admittedly, he was never in the mood to deal with Celia, but really, really, not today.

"Billy! Open the dooooooooor!"

Apparently, she hadn't gotten the memo. The door knob rattled, and she continued to knock. She could do that all day, she'd done it before.

"I'm naked, Celia."

"Well, put on some pants, you idiot."

"Because seeing you is something I really want right now."

Great Lords, why was he being punished. Wasn't it enough that he was probably going to end up going to city collage and working in insurance for the rest of his life. He hated insurance. Okay, he didn't _hate_ it, but he sure as hells doesn't want to work there as anything other than an intern.

"Billy. If you don't open this door, I'm going to start the song that never ends."

What did she even want? "What do you even want?"

"Well, it seems that when I was outside, there was this little indicator light on the mailbox. So, naturally, I opened the box and, surprise, surprise there were these letters inside. And wouldn't you know it, there was one in there for gasp Billy Keikeya! Courtesy of University of Caprica... and it's this big, thick envelope with lots of-"

The only reason Celia didn't get a door to the face was because she was probably expecting it. Instead, the door rebounded off the doorstop and nailed Billy on the shoulder. He didn't notice it at all.

"Gimme that!"

He snatched the large cream envelope out of Celia's hands and ripped it open. A course catalog book, some envelopes, and... An acceptance letter.

"So, you're going to stop moping around the house looking like someone set the dog on fire now, right?"

Later, he swears it was a manly squeal. Really.

Gleefully, he swept Celia up in a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. Absently he noted that it was still weird that she was so much shorter than he was now. Still, it made the hugging and the twirling that much easier.

"I got IN!" He shouted it before dropping Celia on her feet and turning to run down the stairs. He had to call everyone.

"You're not naked, you know!"

"Stop acting disappointed," he yelled back up the steps, completely ignoring the giggling. He'd gotten _in!_


	3. jolt!

3. jolt!

Nina hit the first floor of the Caprican University lecture center flushed and bouncing. Doctor Himmell had just posted the list of new research assistants on the peg board outside his office on the fifth floor and hers had been on the list. _On the list_ to be an RA for one of the most practical, interesting experts on the subject of obscure zoology in the twelve colonies.

THIS is what she'd been praying for since she transferred from Gemenon Science and Engineering's doctorate program. A chance to work with not only the best, but also someone who didn't have a stick up his ass the size of a battlestar. The Gods were smiling on her today and holy hells, she was going to take advantage of it while she could.

She started Tuesday. Oh, Gods, what was she going to wear?

Not important! Not important! No, right now, she needed to go run around campus screaming with glee. Or go drag her rather cranky roommates out for a drink. Or dance naked in the quad. SOMETHING.

She needed to do something.

Quickly, she surveyed her territory. No, no, no, death first, too pretty, gay, no, perfect!

Nina reached out and grabbed the tall, slightly gawky boy that was just walking by and hauled him down to her level. It wasn't exactly an arousing kiss, but what it lacked in... anything was more than made up for in enthusiasm.

"I GOT IN!" She yelled in his face after letting him go. "I GOT IN!"

"Er, okay?" The rather stunned young man muttered as Nina did a short little happy dance in front of him. "That's good?"

"Oh, honey, you have no idea!" Nina pounced him again, hugging him this time. Absently, she noted that he did smell really good. Like the library. He patted her shoulder this time, entirely unsure what to do with such an enthusiastic person who'd decided to single him out.

"Well, good for you?"

"Good for me!" Happily, she bounced the rest of the way down the hall, completely ignoring the yelled "I'm Billy, by the way!" from the now abandoned boy. Gods, today was just a really good day.


	4. our distance and that person

4. our distance and that person

Billy notices Dee watching Captain Adama from almost the beginning of their relationship.

He hadn't minded, not really. Lee was a noticeable guy. One of the heroes of the fleet who put everything on the line, time after time, to keep them safe. It was understandable for her to turn her head in the middle of a conversation or wave at him in the hall. Billy did it too sometimes.

He doesn't know when he realized what it meant.

Despite being rather inexperienced with women - even with three sisters and a rather forthright mother, he'd missed most lessons on decoding the female mind - Billy isn't stupid. He can tell that the glances Dee shoots the Captain are pure female appreciation. It isn't a comfortable realization, but he tries not to let it bother him.

Captain Adama is an attractive man. Moreover, he's a hero.

Billy knows he's not a hero. Billy knows exactly what he is. He is someone who organizes and builds the world heroes create. He's the guy with the file and the coffee and the day's meeting notes. Billy can't fly a Viper or shoot a gun, but that's okay. Dee likes him anyway.

So yes, it's awkward and weird to walk into the gym with Captain Adama on top of Dee. Billy doesn't say anything because they were working out. It's not his business, really. If Dee wanted something different, if she wanted Captain Adama, she could have him. She could have everything because she's just that amazing.

But she _isn't_ kissing Captain Adama. She isn't talking to Captain Adama over the comm for more than the allotted twenty minutes. She's not laughing at Captain Adama's jokes or mocking his ties. No, Dee's doing all of that with Billy.

Billy reminds himself of this often. Moreso than he's really comfortable with, to tell the truth. But Dee is her own person. Billy knows he doesn't have contact with all aspects of her life, and that's fine. She gives him more than he ever dreamed of.

That doesn't stop him from wishing she'd watch _him_... instead of Captain Adama.


	5. ano sa

5. "ano sa" ("hey, you know...")

By the time the reception started, Billy'd been awake for almost thirty-five hours. Everything had come down to a very desperate rabbit out of Roslin's rather over-extended hat, but in the end everything worked out. Probably.

Sighing, Billy scrubbed a hand through his hair and mentally tried to talk his blood pressure down from insane to merely frightening. They were completely making this up as they went along. Clinging to the articles like a dying man to a life-raft. A bit morbid, maybe, but accurate.

Gods, he needed a drink.

Or a year-long nap. He had no idea how the President was doing this. Sure, she had a few more naps a day than he did, but he really didn't begrudge her those. He was there to take care of most of the administrative paperwork. Grease the wheels and make sure she only needed to see the people she actually needed to see. And he was doing it. Doing it well, if the President's random smirks and late night tea sessions were anything to go by. That and the fact that he was in on pretty much every meeting _ever_.

Still, he'd give his right arm for a staff of about ten more people. He had no idea how the Presidents aides pre-Cylon Attack managed.

He stifled a small groan and made his way through one of the last hallways on the way to the reception. Around him, people mingled and chatted, dressed to the nines. It was more than a little jarring to go from the relative simplicity and professionalism of Colonial One to Cloud 9's opulence. Not bad, just weird.

"Hey, there stranger!" Dee's bright and very welcome voice sounded behind him. Almost instantly, his shoulders relaxed from their position around his ears. He'd momentarily forgotten that she'd agreed to be his date at the reception.

One nice bonus on being overworked to the extreme as a presidential aide was that he got to invite a date from anywhere in the fleet. Guaranteed shuttle and all.

Smiling, he turned to greet her... and promptly forgot how to swallow.

"Wow.."

She laughed then. Threw her head back and giggled to the overly-ornate ceiling. Her face was clear and happy, and the rest of her. Well. The 'wow' pretty much covered it.

"You like?" She moved towards him, giving a little turn and pirouette before sliding over to him to hook an arm around his waist. "I borrowed it from one of the greeters. It's a little long, but it fits everywhere else."

He was gawking, and knew it. "You... just. WOW."

Standing up on her toes, Dee reached up and drew him into a long hello kiss. It was hot and steamy and by the end of it his exhausted body wasn't feeling all that tired anymore.

"Well, I'm glad you like." Dee ran a thumb over his lips, presumably to rid him of a lipstick smear. He grinned again, trailing a finger over the curve of her nose and cheek.

"I do like. I like a lot. Any chance you can get away with wearing that in CIC?"

She giggled, pulling back and hooking an arm through his. "I think the Old Man would have a lot to say about that. C'mon. I heard there was dancing around here and I intend to wear you out, Keikeya."

The stress of the last few days fled at the idea of a few hours in Dee's completely willing arms. "As the lady wishes."


	6. the space between dream and reality

6. the space between dream and reality

When Billy opens his eyes, his lips tingle. Half-blind with exhaustion that – he glances left – seven hours of sleep have barely dented, he stares at the ceiling and lets himself drift.

He'd been dreaming. Nothing exactly coherent, but images of sun and green and trees and grass. Somewhere familiar because he remembers feeling safe and relaxed, wherever he was.

He wasn't alone. He remembers that too. There was a girl he'd chased through the trees and grass. He's got no recollection of her face or what she looked like except for he impression of green eyes and warm skin. And the feeling of fingers in his hair and the soft, slick slide of lips on his own.

It was a good kiss. Sensual and slow in the way he'd only ever experienced once or twice when Jillian had been in a sleepy mood.

Gods, he hadn't thought of Jillian in months. Not since graduation when she'd waved at him across the graduating class, smiling and lovely in her gray robes.

And because he doesn't want to think about how Jillian – and his parents and family and friends – probably died screaming, he goes back to his dream. Because if there's something he's learned in the last months, it's that sometimes a lie is kinder than reality.


	7. superstar

7. superstar

Wilhelm Keikeya sighs deeply, takes off his reading glasses, and rubs at his eyes. He thinks he's probably been awake for something like fifteen years now. And that's only because he caught that nap when the remnants of the Colonial fleet landed on their little, uninhabited island off of Australia on Earth.

It had been a good stress-free nap that had lasted all of four hours.

Giving a deep sigh, he throws the glasses down and stands to stretch. He's having to do that more and more often these days. He'd never really paid much attention, all those years ago when his parents, or later Laura Roslin and William Adama, had made similar motions part of their regular routine.

_Face it, Keikeya, _he thought. _You're old._

Which, in and of itself, was a bit of a surprise. Not a bad one, but still there.

Not as much of a surprise as ending up President of their new little colony though. That one still confused the hell out of him. He's still not even sure how his name ended up on the ballot.

Then again, it had been just after the former President Roslin had passed and his 'advisors' had more than capitalized on his rather public grief. It had been a hard lesson, but one he'd already learned long before.

Still, he can't stand to watch any of the pictorials run over the news channels on Remembrance Day. They always use the photos of him clinging to his wife and trying not to cry.

Remembrance Day is hard enough without seeing photos of yourself looking like you need a tissue plastered everywhere. Because for the Colonials, the day is more than a news event. It's a very bittersweet time to remember all of those who didn't make it. Who weren't here to enjoy the 300 cable channels and surplus of sugared drinks.

And he does miss them.

He doesn't miss the frantic adrenaline-laced pace set during that first flight from the doomed colonies. He does miss the people. So many gone now. Lost to accident or attack or disease or stupidity.

The only person who regularly keeps in touch is, oddly, Cally Tyrol. He'd even seen her the week before during one of the endless state dinners the Australian ambassadors had insisted upon. They'd even managed to share a few snarky comments on how they were sure their 'hosts' only held these to get a good look at the colony before she'd kissed him softly on the cheek and gone back to her son.

The advanced tech the Colonials had managed to keep going until that last push to Earth were of avid interest to other nations. Everyone from the former fleet was glaringly aware that advanced technology was pretty much the only reason they'd been allowed to land and settle in the first place.

It had been why President Adama, shortly before his resignation, had insisted on settling where they did. Billy still wishes the man had held out for an island with a bit less in the way of humidity.

Billy sighed, mentally raised a glass to departed friends, and picked his glasses back up. Such was the glamorous life of the President of the Island of Zodia, Earth.

Wilhelm picked up another report and started to read.


	8. our own world

8. our own world

Walking in trees. Branches, roots, leaves, and rain.

Walking and walking and moving (there is nothing else to do) because the ground is wet.

Smelling of earth and water _don'trememberthesmell_ and in the country. Can't remember how or why but there was screaming and dying and.

Stop.

Cough a little. Radiation and slow death will win eventually, but right now there are bushes and paths and forest. Green everywhere and yellow light blinding. Everything feels and looks and smells like a movie.

_Thunkthunkthunk._

Not so slow of a death. Behind, around, about.

Alone and scared.

Remembering mother and sister and father and brother _Gods Picon must be okay_ and memories of holidays and love. Remembering _with_ and not this.

Voices in the night. Damp all around with wood and sticks and leaves sticking your neck and back. Voices of others. Looking and searching. Not for you because you are alone. Madness?

And she is standing there, perfect and tall. White - _color of mourning_ - and light and beautiful.

"Who are you?" Your voice feels wrong. So long quiet. Unreal.

She smiles, bright and perfect. "Who are you?"

You were never good with girls. You know this is a dream or a hallucination as she is smiling at you, her hands suddenly tracing the edges of your face.

"Billy?" You ask. You don't know. Hot and cold and hunger and thirst and the greens of the trees are beautiful behind her bright hair.

Lips warm on your own. Not a dream. Hallucination? Undecided. She smells of apples and autumn mornings long gone.

Blink and stare again. Not real? Real?

"Are you alive Billy?" And then you see the danger.

Not such a slow death.


	9. dash

9. dash

Billy knows he's drunk because it doesn't occur to him that he's kissing a man until after his hands are up the guy's shirt, looking for two very specific things that aren't there.

It, much like many of the other rather odd situations Billy's found himself in prior to the nuclear holocaust that ended his worlds, started with ambrosia. Okay, that was a bit fancy of a word for what he'd had. Hooch was probably more accurate.

He still doesn't know how he'd ended up in the deck crew's poker game. Maybe it had been a pity invite from Cally – someone he always ended up in conversations with while waiting for the shuttles to get moving again. Probably, it had been a pity invite from Cally. That and an overwhelming weariness stemming from too much time in the company of women.

He thinks it's probably a good idea that he only noticed he hadn't had a substantive conversation with another male for almost six months just _that _week, otherwise this might have happened sooner.

Kissing a guy is... much different than kissing a girl. Guys – okay, _the _guy – aren't as soft. They're still kind of soft inside the mouth. You can't really callus up a tongue, probably. But. He feels like he can push back where he really, really couldn't with a girl. Shove and be shoved. Another thing, they don't smell as good. Engine grease and dust mingling with sweat and scent of unwashed man is not something he'd ever found all that appealing.

Still. He it hasn't exactly stopped him yet. It's actually kind of hot.

And he's very, very drunk.

He remembers winning a few hands. And talking old Pyramid games and video games and bad dates. He didn't fit in until probably the fourth shot, and probably _won't _fit in later – especially since he seems to have their boss's hand down his pants and okay, thinking was a little hard there for a minute – but for just then it felt good. It felt okay.

This is just an extension of that.

Maybe.

He moans somewhere in the back of his throat, skimming a hand across the other man's shoulder and side, and is abruptly released.

"Not outloud, you..." The rest of the sentence is cut off as a small knot of crewman suddenly pass by the outside of the hatch they'd stumbled into. Laughing and joking, their voices fade as Billy just stares at Chief Tyrol. Gods, he doesn't even know the other man's first name.

"I..." He doesn't know what to say. He wants to kiss him again.

He doesn't. Mostly because he's very, very drunk.

The hatch opens easily, and he only trips a little bit on the way out the door. The Chief doesn't call after him. Not really.

Running is surprisingly easier to do in the open hallways. Door after door streaks by him and the grating underfoot starts to ring as he gains his stride. Through empty corridors and into main hallways where people are, he runs. An odd sight, the president's aide running and disheveled. He'll worry about it tomorrow.

The noise of people disappears quickly as he runs down the corridors, back towards the shuttle bays. He doesn't let himself think about what he's running from, he's too drunk for that. Just loses himself in the adrenaline.

Maybe.


	10. number ten

10. #10

The first time he is kissed by Anastasia Dualla, he is lost - for the second time in two days - inside a great battlestar, trying to find the CIC. He's just survived a nuclear holocaust, an EMP burst, and losing his entire family in one blow. Her kiss is hard and passionate and life-affirming. It's also a complete surprise. He knows he stared stupidly after her for a good thirty seconds before his brain kicked itself back on.

The second time is also hard and fast. He is cloudy from too little sleep, and trying to mentally navigate himself to the guest quarters for his allotted fifteen minute nap as the President had banished him from the short meeting she and Commander Adama had been trying to fit in. Dee is compact and efficient yanking him into what looks like a storage closet and proceeding to make out with him for the rest of his time off. His hand ends up inside her jumpsuit and hers up his shirt, so even though he didn't get that nap, he's surprisingly okay.

The third is a hello. Soft and sweet and quick, she greets him warmly in the shuttle airlock. The President is smirking at him, but it's been a long day and he's too happy to see a friendly face to blush. They agree to meet later for dinner.

The fourth time she kisses him is a goodbye from the same trip. The meeting ran long and ended with the President having a minor fight with the Commander where Billy had to blend quietly into the wall because leaving would have been more obvious. They eventually settled things out, but by the time they were trading barbs and saying their goodbyes, Dee's rack time had long since started. He hadn't expected her to be there to be waiting at the shuttle, but the peck she gives him and the squeeze of his hand settles him better than anything else he's ever tried. She is warm and casual in her goodbye, and when he finally turns in after filing all of his notes, he dreams about her eyes and hair and smile. It is a good dream.

When Dee kisses him the fifth time, it is quiet and sad. He doesn't remember why, exactly. He just knows it was after dinner in the mess. Her face was shuttered in the dim light of the Galactica, and she tasted like reconstituted orange. Her hair was soft under his hands, and afterwards, she leaned into him and just held on. Neither of them mention that they cried. Ever.

Number six is long and passionate. It starts slow, like the last one, but has more electricity. Billy remembers it curling his toes. It had been steamy and long and segued quickly into number seven.

The eighth time Dee kissed Billy, it isn't on the mouth.

Nine kisses in, Dee smiles into their kiss. She is stretched up on her toes and leaning in to him in the hall. He is starting to smile back, and thinks if a photographer caught them just right, this would be a picture for the record books. A work in shadow and emotion.

The tenth time is the very first one where he is kissed for an ulterior motive. The tenth kiss changes what they are doing from comfort and fun, into something else. It is with the tenth kiss that Billy will remember as a greeting and an invitation to the couple's lounge, his mind on this Thing that the President has asked of him. Never mind the thing weighing on Dee's. He won't remember her asking "So, why did the President look like she'd swallowed a lemon today." And if he does, he'll think it's just concern.


	11. gardenia

11. Gardenia

Billy has always thought that men weren't supposed to fantasize.

Oh, he knows that the sexual is fine. Men think with nothing but their dicks after all. It's a widely held gender role belief and one he knows to be fairly accurate.

He just always thought that men weren't supposed to want romance. Weren't supposed to picture wooing and being wooed in graphic detail, or imagine how he was going to propose to the woman of his dreams. It just wasn't done. At least, not in his family.

Not that he hadn't known that his father had loved his mother with his whole heart. His father had adored his mother. He just hadn't been the hearts and flowers type. Instead, Johann Keikeya had done everything in his power to make a stable and solid home for his wife and family. Shown just how deeply he cared by _doing_ for them.

In a home like that, Billy had always felt very self-conscious about how he was supposed to approach women. And with the few girlfriends he'd had while in college, he'd always felt strange about having a ready-made plan for a romantic date.

He liked having the low music and soft lighting. The gardenias and subtle heat of Caprica City in late summer did as much for him as the soft slide of skin against his clavicle. The warm and heady press of lips against his own and the knowledge that THIS was the woman. THIS was the time. He'd dreamed all of that, even as he kept it close and safe inside of him.

He'd always been a romantic, even if he'd kept that quiet.

Maybe that's why seeing Dee on what is very, very obviously a fantasy date with Lee Adama hurts as much as it does. She'd said no and given back his ring. He thinks he could have lived with that.

With the heat and pain flooding through him, he knows that he'll never get the chance to find out.

Oddly, as everything fades around Dee's sobbing, he's sure he can smell gardenias.


	12. in a good mood

12. in a good mood

Billy knows he's awake because he's never dreamed this much pain ever before, and he knows that if he ever _had _he would have woken himself up. And when he thinks that sentence, he knows he's on some rather spectacular drugs.

His senses wake up slowly. He is in pain, yes. A lot of pain. Yes. Next is smell.

It smells like... the medbay. Which would make a lot of sense considering the way his entire body currently feels as though it's been pummeled with lots of rocks over an extended period of time.

Gods, he doesn't remember drinking _that _much on the _Cloud Nine_. Actually he doesn't remember drinking anything.

His hearing comes back next. There's beeping and lots of it. It seems regular, if soft, and is coming from somewhere right next to his head. Which, despite being a bit worrying (why was he connected to a beeping thing? Was _he_ connected to a beeping thing? If not he who..?) was also reassuring. If it was his heart going beep-beep then he was, in fact, alive and not in some sort of weird hell.

Why had he been on the _Cloud Nine_ again? A meeting? He was going to have to have a word with that bartender. His head felt fuzzy.

And his mouth felt like carpet installers had moved in with some really bad shag. Blech.

He licked his mouth a few times, trying to get some moisture going, but stopped as the actual taste was just that much worse. What in the three hells..?

And that's when he realized that he hadn't opened his eyes yet. Cracking his eyelids, he blinked, trying to clear his line of sight. There was a... lamp over him. It wasn't on, but it was right over his head. He stared at it some more. He must have made a sound or something because suddenly, there wasn't just a lamp there. President Roslin's face was hovering above him, looking worried and borderline exhausted.

"Billy? Honey, are you awake?"

He licked his lips, trying to get his mouth wet enough to actually talk. "Er...?"

The grin she suddenly gives him is brilliant and beaming. The worry lines, while not melting completely away, recede and Laura Roslin de-ages in front of his rather fuzzy-around-the-edges eyes.

"Oh, Billy." He watches, fascinated, as a few tears leak out. Still grinning, she brushes his hair away from his face before leaning in and kissing him softly on the forehead. "Oh, Billy... I am _so very happy_ you're awake."

"Hang..over?" His voice sounds rough and scratchy, but it's there and that's apparently something pretty amazing going by the way the President seems to want to lean over and hug him. But he's starting to fade again. The medication is kicking in – at least that's what he thinks is in the IV behind the President's head – and the blurry edges are getting fuzzier and darker.

"No, Billy." She smiles again and keeps running the tips of her fingers over the curve of his forehead. It feels... nice. Even if the rest of him wants to run, screaming, away from his nervous system. "But don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."

He drifts off to the repetitive stroke of her fingers, almost in time with the beeping that he's suddenly sure is his heart.

He could remember the rest later.


	13. excessive chain

13. excessive chain

Billy doesn't try and keep track of of the months anymore. Well, not generally. He knows the date - has to know those because scheduling is his department as well as press briefings, office organization, and report reviews - but he stopped keeping track of the specific months and holidays weeks ago. He'd had to when he'd spent the week leading up to his eldest sister's birthday jumpy as a cat.

The day of, President Roslin had taken him aside and quietly talked the whole thing out of him. She'd smiled at him, sad and reassuring, before gently patting him on the shoulder and asking him if he wanted the afternoon off. Gods if it wasn't embarrassing as all hells.

"No, ma'am," he'd said. "We have a full schedule today."

And so, he'd made a conscious effort to stop actually knowing what day it was. His life - outside of constant threat of death - had gotten a lot less stressful after that.

Still, sometimes, he can't help but be reminded.

"Billy!" Tory, an underaide who mostly handled external communication, had bounced in earlier that morning all smiles and barely contained excitement. "Did you hear? The Tiresus is having a Feast Day celebration next week! You should come. You're from Caprica too, right? They said there might even be pie!"

"What?" He'd been in the middle of reading that the overnight's supply report and thus, less than coherent.

"Feast Day. Pie. Wednesday."

And then it had registered. "Uh... okay."

She'd gone on a bit about pie and lack of sugar and how it was inhumane that the Cylons had destroyed all sources of chocolate – a rant he'd been subjected to every few days – before dropping the reports she had for him and moving off to spread the word. She hadn't noticed that he hadn't exactly returned her euphoria or anticipation.

He really hadn't known what to say. Because Feast Day had been the one day out of the year that his entire family had made the effort to get together. All the nieces and nephews and cousins under one roof. There'd been teasing and screaming matches galore. And there'd been pie.

He remembered one particular Feast Day when his sisters had chained him to the downstairs banister and taken turns making their friends kiss him. He'd been six and it had been the ultimate torture that had only ended when his mother had walked in to announce dinner. She'd been so serious, helping untangle him from the plastic the girls had knotted around him.

He'd gotten an extra-big scoop of ice cream for that.

And those remembrances had _hurt_. They still did.

Billy sighs and stares up at the ceiling above his desk. The Feast Day celebration had already started. Theoretically, he should be over there, if just as a show of support. He can't do it though. Not today. Maybe not every.

He's supposed to be with his family. Instead, he's alive and so very, very far away. And he's probably the only one who even remembers the Keikeya clan.

He thinks about how he'd probably be ignoring his sisters' screaming over who was losing what in which pyramid game right about now, and when it all gets too depressing, he goes back to filing. And doesn't think about anything at all.


	14. radiocassette player

14. radio-cassette player

The door to the nursery is partially open, and Billy can just barely make out the low murmur of the cassette player his sister installed there for white noise. When he'd made an inquiring noise about the whole thing – didn't babies need lots of undisturbed sleep or something? – his mother had clicked her tongue and pointed out that _he'd _been able to sleep through everything up to a nuclear blast when he was small, and listen to his sister as she knew best for her kids.

He really should learn better than to question the women in his life. The seem to know everything and aren't shy about pointing it out.

Still, he'd been busy most of the day hauling things and doing some last minute painting. He'd been dragging a few of the many barrels of trash out to the compactor when Cecy, baby Joe, and her husband had gotten home from the hospital, so he couldn't greet his new nephew then. And after that, Cecy and Joe had gone upstairs for a nap.

Cecy had been put back on the bed rest prescribed during the last few months of her pregnancy. Joe had been a surprise for his sister and her husband, although not an unhappy one, however her pregnancy had not been an easy or comfortable one. She'd nearly miscarried in her fifth month due to almost too-late diagnosed gestational diabetes, and had been put on close watch when her blood pressure had begun to spike on her seventh month.

As such, his mother had migrated to Picon for help with care and regular household duties. Stepping off the transport the day before he'd been greeted, in person, by his mother for the first time in almost three months. It had been an odd experience not being so geographically close to his parents. Sure, he was in another city, but it hadn't been much of a problem to catch a train home from University.

It was going to be an adjustment for him since his parents had announced their plans to move to Picon permanently later that fall. He'd known they were bandying the idea around, but his father's declaration over takeout from one of the local Gemanese places had still been a bit of a shock. Still, both of his sister and his younger brother had migrated after college and settled with wives and jobs. And towards the end of dinner, they'd been pushing him to apply for a few internships on Picon during the semester holidays coming up.

Things were definitely changing in the Keikeya household. And while it would be a shift, Billy knew it wasn't all bad.

Carefully, he edged the door to Joe's room the rest of the way open and peeked in. The baby was in his bassinet, sleeping. Or, that's what Billy figured until he stepped a little further into the room. Joe was actually awake and trying to look around.

"Hey, little guy..." Billy smiled and reached in to run a finger along the boy's forehead. While he was the youngest, he'd done plenty of his share of babysitting for the neighborhood kids during high school. It had been a good, easy source of income. But he never did get over how soft newborns were. "Sounds like you've had a rough few months. I'm your Uncle Billy. I didn't get to see you much earlier, so I thought I'd come say hi. I didn't know you were going to be awake though."

Joe blinked a few times and started a little bit of a whimper. Oddly, it was almost in tune with the instrumental program running on the tape player. Billy ramped up his smile to a grin. Damn, but the kid was adorable. And about to sob, if he was any judge. Carefully, making sure to support his nephew's head, Billy scooped the boy up and gently laid him over a shoulder.

"I can see why my sister was so intent on keeping you little, guy. I guess you're hungry, huh? Yeah, you slept all the way through dinner."

The baby whimpered a little more and wriggled. Billy leaned back and eyed him. "Oh, yeah, definitely hungry."

Making sure to step around the newly arranged large rocking horse his older brother had found in an antique shop somewhere north of Picon City – he'd heard about the excursion in _great length _earlier in the day while they'd been trying to assemble the crib – Billy moved out of the room and towards his sister's and bother-in-law's bedroom. He stopped just before the door and eyed his nephew again. "Don't worry, little guy. Mom's just back here. She's got the goods."

He kissed the tiny baby gently on the head and knocked.


	15. perfect blue

15. perfect blue

These days, Billy spends most of his time flat on his back, staring up at the sky.

His daughters tease him mercilessly about it, especially when they're the ones helping to haul his aging self off the ground to go in for the night. Cyndy, her dark eyes flashing, pulling faces and her younger sister Laura just shaking her head. They are a picture, both grabbing a hand and hauling to get him on his feet. They're both small like their mother, so when he's finally standing he has to lean over to kiss their heads.

He finds it infinitely strange that he's made it to the old age of sixty. Twenty some years of running, fighting, and surviving have not been laid to rest by fifteen of relative peace. Billy knows this with every bone in his weary body.

His daughters don't ask why he spends so much time staring at the sky. They'd been twelve and nine respectively when the rag-tag tattered fleet had finally made landfall on this quiet world. Their earliest memories are of playing under sloped, metal ceilings and hustling into containment shelters at the first sounding of an alarm.

No, they don't ask why he can spend hours and hours staring up into the blue, blue sky. Sometimes, when their children are being watched by their husbands, or off at school, one or both will settle down next to him and stare too.


	16. invincible unrivaled

16. invincible; unrivaled

Billy sleeps and dreams of thousands of others wearing his face. It's only recently that he remembers why.

He is in the medbay of Galactica, waiting for President Roslin to die. Waiting to be sure. Waiting for a sign.

He thinks his awakening was nothing like as it was for the Sharon of Galactica. Moments of fear followed by a sudden and perfect realization of why he was Here. Of knowing his purpose. There was no shock, or lack of knowledge. He knows who he is. He does.

He is a Cylon, and he is here to monitor and observe. He does not know, however, why it took so long for him to remember, but this was God's plan. As such, it is unquestionable. God's ways are mysterious.

God is on their side, and they will be victorious. Whatever their end goal is. This was Certain to all Cylons.

Everything had all been so much simpler when he'd just been a model assigned to making sure Adar's mistress died. Not that he remembers that goal very well. It's all a bit fuzzy, much like the vague history of sisters and parents. There when necessary, but otherwise fleeting in its surety.

It had been a surprise to all of them that Adar's mistress had turned out to be rather resourceful. And had ended up the nominal President of the tattered remains of humanity, with Billy as her most trusted aide. There was a certain kind of poetry to that. Righteousness.

But it had been confusing for him. He was no one very special. His model was not first or last, nor had it been singled out by God in any real way. He was just one of many. The middle child of a brood of extremely exceptional children.

Though, God does not love any child more than another. At the core, they are the same, and in that, loved equally by God. Even so, Billy is never sure just why he is here and none of his better selves are. But it is God's will.

Maybe it is his reward.

He just wonders why God is allowing him to doubt so much.

"Billy, are we ready for the press conference?"

He wipes a cloth across Laura Roslin's tacky skin and tries to not feel pity. Sorrow. Tries to feel nothing. But she turns her head into the warmth of his palm, eyes confused and scared, and it just doesn't work. There is no press conference today. There will not be one tomorrow. She will be dead soon, and humanity will lose its very competent and respected leader. God's will done.

"No, Ma'am. That isn't for a while. Would you like some water?"

Soon, Laura Roslin will leave this Billy Keikeya alone. She will be gone. And he knows that he will miss her. Very, very much.

Billy knows God has a plan. Billy knows there is a God. But he's starting to wonder if he and his siblings know any more about that plan than their wayward parents. Billy is starting to think that humanity isn't the only group being taught a lesson.

"Okay, Billy. That's okay then." President Roslin whispers this, quietly, as slips into a light sleep. Her hand is curled up around the pillow, and her face blends into the dingy laundry. She is dying. She hasn't given up.

Idly, Billy kisses her hand before settling it next to her head on the pillow. He wonders what Laura Roslin dreams about.


	17. kilohertz

17. kHz (kilohertz)

"Ship to ship call from Colonial One, designation Billy Keikeya for Petty Officer Anastasia Dualla, Petty Officer you have the all clear."

"Thank you, Specialist, disconnect. Billy?"

"Dee?"

"You know I just asked your name, you don't have to be surprised that it's me."

"I... you know, it's kind of mean that you tease me when you know I'll get all flustered."

"No, it's cute. You're adorable when you get all red and flailing. Admittedly, it's usually more fun when you're naked."

"Dee!"

"Cute!"

"Evil!"

"So are there any Presidential trips scheduled over Galactica way in the next couple of days?"

"Well, the President's supposed to go in for another checkup this week. Probably day after tomorrow."

"Um. Is it bad that I'm glad she has to come over here so much now? I mean... that's bad isn't it?"

"I don't know. Kind of. I'm... glad I get to see you."

"I know you can't give details, but. Things are bad?"

"Yeah. But if you get the chance, let Admiral Adama know that she appreciated the book."

"You know, it's really insane that our bosses completely use us having sex to information gather."

"What can I say, their interpersonal communication is a little whacked out."

"Just. Let me know when she's in with Doc Cottle. I'll try and coordinate so I can come sit with you."

"...Thank you, Dee."

"Hey. I'm here if you need me, right? So how much paperwork do you have tonight?"

"Not too much. I'll probably only be up until two or three."

"You really should get more sleep, Billy. And find someone to have lunch with besides that passel of PR assistants."

"Hey, they're nice!"

"You really need more male companionship."

"..you're kind of right."

"Of course I'm right. You should come over and join one of the officer's poker games."

"They'd eat me alive and you know it."

"Yeah, but then they'd like you. They're always fond of an easy mark."

"Thank you, so very much."

"Heh. You know I like you more than my socks."

"Same here. I have to go."

"Yeah, me too. Our five minutes are pretty much up. If I was there, I'd kiss you goodnight."

"If you were here, I'd more than let you."

"Night, Billy."

"Night, Dee."

"See you in a couple days."

"I hope so."


	18. say aaah

18. "say ahh..."

"I hate my life." Well, that's what he'd _meant to say. _It came out more like "I habit my wife."

"What?" Jeanie, his girlfriend of roughly seven weeks and counting, glanced up... and stared. "What the hell happened to you? And was there a shovel to the face involved?"

He rolled his eyes at her, dumped the bag of sundry prescriptions on his kitchen table, and flopped down hard in one of the chairs. "No. Dentist."

Jeanie blinked, then giggled. "Say that again."

"Dentist?"

"You just said 'dentwist'." She giggled more and completely set down her textbook and focused completely on him. "I assume you mean 'dentist'. I didn't know you had an appointment."

"You're mean." Billy sighed and reached over for one of the two white bags. One was antibiotics for the abscess, the other was painkillers for the emergency root canal. The horrible thing was, he'd only gone in for a cleaning. "I had a cleaning and they found this."

Jeanie laughed again before batting his hands away and opening up the bags. "I know, I know, I'm a horrible bitch. Now stop fussing with those and let me open them. You know how mean the drug companies are to people in pain. No one can ever get the tops off of these when they're totally coherent."

"And that's your professional opinion?"

"Yes, as a future doctor, that is my professional opinion." She glanced at the labels, got out the medication he needed, recapped everything and got up to get him a glass of water. As she handed the glass to him, he groaned and leaned back.

The kiss wasn't one of their top ten, but it was soft and sweet. When it was over, Jeanie ran a fond hand down the side of his face. "Say, ahh, Billy."

He opened his mouth and she dumped two tablets in and patted him on the head as he took a long sip. He wrapped an arm around her middle and hugged her. They hadn't been dating long, but they'd been friends forever. It felt good to come home and have her here after a long day. Billy closed his eyes and leaned into her. Maybe he'd ask soon. Maybe.

"Thanks for being here, Jeanie." And he more than meant it.

"Hey, no problems, boyfriend of mine. You've got the quietest study quarters in town." He could hear the smile in her voice.

He smiled back and gave her another light squeeze before leaning back and looking up at her. "So that's it. You love me for my apartment."

"What, you think it's your sparkling personality?" She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"Sure, abuse the guy who's in pain and who has three finals to study for by the day after tomorrow."

"Honey, if you wanted abuse, I'd detail my true and abiding love for the actors on that military drama. You know. CAG."

Billy snickered and let Jeanie go back to her side of the table. "I can't believe you even watch that. It's terrible."

Jeanie grinned and flipped her neurobiology book back open before sticking her tongue out at him. "Hey, Viper pilots are hot."

"And administration majors?"

"Mmmm." She threw him a sexy look. "Well, you know my preference on that particular score."

"Well, that's good to know." Still laughing, Billy stood up and moved towards the bathroom. He shook his head at his now focused girlfriend and snickered at himself. Mostly, he just liked to give her shit about watching something so inane. But it was something so _Jeanie_ he really didn't mind.

And when you liked someone, you made sacrifices. Especially if they opened your medication for you. Smiling, Billy stepped into the restroom and closed the door.


	19. red

19. red

Later, you think you might have actually felt the flash-bang that ended Billy's life.

Not in the same way he did. That would be stupid and selfish of you, and you'll have enough of those emotions tied up with Billy as it is.

No, you'll remember that awful bang and Billy surprised cry as something you felt reaching inside you and twisting. But that's later.

Billy is gasping when you reach him, just a little. Frantically, you pat your hands over the front of his chest, looking for where the damage was done, hoping that your hands can stop the red swell that's starting on his shirt. You find the hole quickly, and it is so very small. Strange that.

You realize you're crying absently, as an afterthought to everything that is going on. You're focused on Billy, on keeping your hands over that tiny hole and hoping against everything that the medics will make it in time.

They don't.

You watch his eyes dim and go glassy in the soft light. There is blood on your dress and on your face and in your hair. It's not all his - Lee is still quietly bleeding behind you - but a lot of it is. Red and sticky and already starting to dry.

You are sobbing and beating at Billy's cooling chest, insensate in a way where you are totally aware of the chaos around you. Marines and yelling and bustling of life. You know this is your fault. No, it wasn't you who handed these people guns. But you'd found this boy lacking. Not told him about it.

He died a hero _for you_. Just to prove that he could. Or maybe because he'd always been one and you hadn't seen it.

And it's no use. He's dead under you, you know that as you slump forward trying to kiss him awake. His eyelids, his face, his lips. They are all slack under your lips.

Suddenly, there are arms around you, lifting you away. You go into them easily because you really, really don't want to be here anymore. You don't want to stare at Billy's beautiful, still face, and you sure as gods don't want to lock eyes with the President.

You need to leave. You need to stand on your own two feet and walk out the hatch behind you. Put distance between you and the slowly growing pool of blood on the floor that used to belong to a beautiful, funny, loyal boy who looked at you and saw the moon. Never mind that you always thought you looked better in the sun.

And then you're standing on your own two feet, shoved gently towards the back of the room so that the marines and the civilians and medics can make sense of the chaos around you. They don't have time to take care of a crying little girl who's covered in blood that isn't her own.

They have to deal with the living. Just like you have to walk your ass back to the shuttle, make a report, shower, and go sit by Lee's bedside. You were on a date with him, it's only fair.

The part of you that used to sing to your nephews and dance with your mother in the rain winces at this. Mourns a little for how you've changed. For the way things have rearranged themselves inside you so that you can sleep at night.

Too much gone now to dwell on a new loss. Maybe it's selfish and terrible, but this brand new world is pretty frakking terrible all on its own.

Maybe, you think as you take the first few shaky steps away from that terrible room and Billy's body, you just have to do what you have been doing. Take what's here. Move on.

No one sees you clinging to that frakking stupid debate ring. No one even knows to look.


	20. the road home

20. the road home

Billy opens his eyes and finds himself standing upright in a cave. This is a bit disconcerting as his last memory is of flaring pain and the slow empty sensation of falling backwards.

The bullet had hurt a lot. He remembers dying.

...actually, he remembers everything. Not just his death but every single bit of his life. From the pounding of his mother's heart before his birth on down to _exactly_ what he'd written on his psych final his second year of university. Everything is just there in his head.

Curiously, he glances around. He's... in a line. Of people. Directly ahead of him is a woman with long curly brown hair. She smiles at him, but looks away and forward before he can ask her where they're going.

He knows where they're going. Well, he thinks he does.

Billy rubs his forehead. Good gods, how the hell had humanity managed to get that whacked out mythology _right?_

He stays in the line because it seems the thing to do. He doesn't know how long he's there, but when he reaches the front...

Well, he figures, I know when to admit that I'm wrong.

The ferryman, almost straight out of the illustrations from the scrolls his mother showed him as a child, blinks out at him. He is tall, wearing a dark robe that almost completely covers his face. His boat is, indeed, made of bones, and in the dark of the caves looks almost yellow.

Billy looks down and flinches at the images in the water. Reaching hands and wailing faces.

"Do you have passage?" The voice is ominous, fitting the surroundings perfectly. That's right. He needed payment to get where he was headed, wherever that was. Needed someone to have remembered him. Performed the funeral rites.

"I... I don't know."

"Why don't you check your hands, son?"

He looks down. In his open palm are two small copper coins.

Warmth blooms in his chest and for a split second he wants to cry. A memory, fuzzy and indistinct in a way that seems odd for all the clarity of mind death has granted him, surfaces. Warm lips on cold skin and a whisper. "For the river, Billy. May the gods protect you."

"Do you have passage?" Again, the boatman asks. Billy looks up, looks him straight in the eye. He might be crazy, but he thinks he sees humor in the face of the gloomy man before him.

Billy straightens, standing as tall as he can he offers out his hand with the two coins. "Will this do?"

The boatman turns up a corner of his mouth in almost a smile. "That's more than enough. Come on, boy. Let's go home then."

Not looking back, Billy steps into the ferry.


	21. violence pillageplunder extortion

21. violence; pillage/plunder; extortion

Kara stopped dead twenty paces before what she's sure was the outside door of this little Cylon factory of horrors. She knows she's being watched. Kind of. That weird prickle of unease that always tells a body that _something_ else is nearby had been pinging constantly for the last twenty minutes. Something had been going on, and she was pretty sure that it was the Cylons letting her go.

She'd been mildly okay with that.

But this was... this was something else. Something i weirder /i was suddenly pinging her internal dradis. Something was coming.

Cautiously, she ducked her head out around the corner, checking one way and then the other. Clear.

Hand still pressed to her side, she skidded out through the open hallway and into the slight shelter offered by the rest of the corridor. Ten paces.

And then a hand reached out from a nearby doorway and threw her inside and up against the wall. Pain flared out from her lower back and body as she impacted. Kara bounced a little before doing what she could to draw herself into a defensive stance, waiting for the first blow to come.

It wasn't what she had expected. Not a physical blow.

All the colors in her field of view sharpened suddenly, narrowing down to a single agonizingly painful point. She knew the Cylon in front of her. Not well, but she knew it.

"...BILLY?" Of course it makes sense. The President's top aide. A sick feeling of fear twists her stomach as she realizes, again, just how much a puppet on a string the little band of human survivors she left behind is.

They had to have known. To put him, i this /i , where he was... She sobs a little, back pressed as tightly as possible against the wall behind her.

_It_ sighs a little and shrugs. "Kind of. I'm sorry."

Half hysterical, she sobs a breath and rolls her eyes. "Right. Top aide. Don't tell me, you're here to help me along on my path to my destiny, right? Frak, this is bull."

"No, Lietenant Thrace. I'm not here to help you. Not with that." The bo- CYLON shrugs his shoulders and runs a hand through his curly hair. He looks exactly like he did the day she passed him walking out of the President's warroom except for the color of his shirt and tie. "I am REALLY sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing? Frak, Dee is going to shit a brick..." Cautiously, she tries to start edging away. She knows it won't help, but she's _Starbuck_ and not trying just isn't in her genetic makeup.

The hand that slams her back against the wall, completely surrounding her windpipe isn't a surprise. The Cylon's expression kind of is. It's soft and almost sweet. Nervously, it looks back and forth, assuring itself that they are, in fact, still alone.

"Because what they did to you- What my brothers and sisters are doing to all of you isn't right. But what they're doing to _you_... what they're making you do. I can't do that again. We can't. Your destiny should be something you decide, not something that's decided for you."

She whimpers, wiggling a little under the hand at her throat. Deja vu slams through her brain.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Thrace." The Cylon looks almost sad. "Believe me when I say that this is for the best. For you. I am going to be in _so_ much trouble."

He leans over then, kissing her lightly on the forehead. He smells like paper and leaves and youth. Gods what did humanity do to deserve _this_ as a fate?

The hand still locked on her throat starts to squeeze, and the Cylon reaches up to stroke her hair. "I'm trying for everyone, Lieutenant Thrace. Try and believe that, okay?"

The last thing in her mind before she feels the snap and darkness rushing in is _Thank the Gods._


	22. cradle

22. cradle

This is... not how he imagined this happening.

Admittedly, a lot of his long-term plans got a little bushwhacked on their way to the forum considering that his entire civilization had been pretty much bombed out of existence in one way or another. It's a little bit strange to realize that he's still surprised when things don't turn out the way he'd vaguely planned them.

The little warm bundle of baby curled in his arms gives a soft little coo. For a second it looks like his son is going to wake up and possibly start screaming the place down, but with a gentle little rock, the boy curls into his blankets, his breathing smoothing out.

Outside, Billy can hear the continuous, steady rain beat against the side of his tent. And as much as he is sick of the cold and the damp and the mildew, he's thankful that his son - his _son_ - responds so well to the steady quiet rhythm.

His mother had once told him that the only think that could put him out was a quick trip around the block in the groundcar. She'd always laughed while telling him stories of his early years, told usually during the preparation for a family meal. He has so many memories of his mother laughing in the kitchen, surrounded by his sisters, all of them pealing or chopping or stirring something.

Billy wishes his son could have met his grandmother. He knows she would have been completely in love.

"C'mon, little guy." Carefully, Billy stood, running a hand down his son's back, bouncing him a little when he made a few settling squeaks. "No, Grandma Keikeya wouldn't have been too happy knowing that her precious first grandson was going to be sleeping in a box."

As with everything else in his world, his son's cradle had been scavenged from available materials. Given the baby boom that had flourished since New Caprica's establishment eleven months previous, more and more amateur woodworkers had been given the chance to try their craft at bassinets and cradles. His son's had been one of the first few off the line, and so it rather lacked in ornamentation.

Still, it worked for what it needed to do.

Gently, Billy lowered the small boy into his sleeping cot, brushing a kiss over his tiny little forehead before tucking him in.

"Night, little guy."

No, this wasn't how he'd imagined being a father. But it was still pretty amazing.


	23. candy

23. candy

"You know what I miss?"

"Besides laundry detergent?"

"You are really fixated on that."

"Yeah, well..."

"No, I miss candy."

"Candy?"

"Yeah. Gooey, chocolatey candy. Like the Marmello bars."

"Oh, GOD. You're a cruel, cruel man, torturing a women with the idea of Marmello bars!"

"Gods. With the caramel and crunchy bits..."

"And the chocolate from Tauron. Or with the holiday special bars!"

"The dark chocolate ones with the dates and raspberry milk chocolate swirl!"

"Or the ones with chili powder mixed in. Oh, my mom got me one of those for Feast Day one year. I had it half gone before the aftertaste kicked in."

"Afterburn you mean?"

"OH, yeah. Dad, being Dad, got me the super-"

"-hot atomic one?"

"Same with you?"

"My oldest sister. I was coughing so hard I thought I was going to lose a lung."

"Man, I would kill for one of those right now."

"Mmmm. Or one of the nugget ones. With the rice crispies in them."

"Those things were like ambrosia for us during the Vestal season as a kid!"

"Those and the ones with almonds."

"Gods. You, Mr. Keikeya are a cruel, cruel individual, tormenting me with images of chocolate bars past. I think I officially hate you."

"I kind of hate myself right now. But. Mmmm."

"Mmph."

"...distracted yet?"

"Not in the least. But you should probably keep trying."

"Sex vs. Chocolate then?"

"Well, we've only got the one. So you're gonna have to work pretty hard to make me forget the other."

"Dee..."

"Mmmph. Okay that.. oh, you're on the right.. path.."

"The things I do for- mmph!"

"Quiet down, chocolate boy. You've got work to do."


	24. good night

24. good night

Ellen woke up curled sideways in her husband's bunk. She knew it was Saul's because he always slept on his side – she tended to sleep on her stomach – and his years of sleeping on the same mattress had left an impression. Literally. An impression she was currently inhabiting.

This was not the best way for a morning to start.

Groaning, she sat up. Mistake number two, as the headache that had previously been masking itself struck up the parade band and went gleefully to town.

"Gods..."

A quick trip to the bathroom – she refused to call it 'head' because... dirty – showed that the damage from the earlier dinner had been minimal. She was still a bit drunk, but that would wear off with more sleep. The short nap she'd just had wasn't nearly enough sleep.

Plus she needed to get her makeup off. Nothing destroyed skin better than old makeup. Her aunt had drilled that little tidbit into her head early and it'd stuck. Even if she was... away from home, she always made sure to wipe everything off. And while men didn't always like a fresh-faced woman in the morning, she also made a habit of getting up earlier than her current paramour.

And Saul had seen her in worse positions than bare-faced. It was one of the reasons she kept going back to him. He never seemed to care.

What an idiot.

She washed her face carefully, and moved out into the main room. Saul had somehow scavenged her a table and a chair, and while they were horribly ugly they were serviceable. Her husband had even set up a mirror for her.

Settling into the hard-backed chair, Ellen frowned at herself. It was a terrible burden getting old. She drew a finger up to her eyes and pushed the skin up, then made a face when the skin fell back into place when she let go.

Still, it was better than it could have been.

After all, it wasn't every woman over _thirty-five_ that got invited to dine with the upper echelons of Colonial society. Absently, she wondered just how she'd managed to get home. Saul wasn't in their quarters and he wasn't due on shift until the next day, so he was either passed out or somewhere working himself in that direction.

What she remembered of dinner – mostly the entrée – had been boring. That was the problem with this current government. Everyone was just so serious. Yeah, they Cylons wanted them dead, blah, blah, blah. They just didn't know when to let the drama go. They were no FUN.

Okay, most of them were boring. But there was a blurry sense of fun attached to the last few hours. It had been after the sixth glass of ambrosia, that she does remember.

She remembered kissing. Someone... tall. With curly hair. Billy? Someone who worked for the President at any rate. He'd been so squirmy and sweet. Rather flushed and a bit embarrassed when she let him go – poor boy probably hadn't even had his cherry popped yet.

Idly rubbing some very rare, very sought-after eye cream on, Ellen debated the pros and cons of breaking the boy in properly. Young boys did need older – but not that much older – women to break them in properly, and she doubted the President was up for that. She snorted, being careful to rub all of the cream in. That dowdy little know-it-all probably didn't even know what she had under her nose.

Still. It probably wasn't worth it. Roslin was on the outs, and anything she gained – outside some rigorous frakking – would be moot rather quickly. Ellen mentally shrugged the whole thing off and got up to go back to sleep.

A woman needed her rest to look her best, after all.


	25. fence

25. fence

Billy remembers waking up with a shunt in his chest. It's not one of his more pleasant memories.

He'd opened his eyes, body hurting everywhere, and seen the President staring, worriedly down at him. Had watched as her whole body seemed to unclench, and she'd started to cry. The memory was shrouded with pain medication and delirium caused by a slight infection, but he remembers how her hand had shaken when she'd fixed a curl and then shouted for Doc Cottle.

He remembers drifting back to sleep with her hand on his arm.

He knows Dee didn't come to find him until three days later. He knows because when he'd woken up for good, he'd asked, and Cottle had been too distracted by a rather incompetent tech to give and even cursory thought to his bedside manner.

Oddly, by the time she'd actually shuffled up to his bed, he'd been okay with that. He'd had time to think about what he wanted to say. What he wanted from her.

He'd told her to go because she didn't really want to be here, with him. She wanted to be a few beds over with Lee, and he told her – he thinks fairly calmly – that he didn't want to hold her back. That if Lee Adama was really what she wanted, and as long as he treated her okay, that was where she should go.

He could afford to kill her with kindness. After all, the only thing she'd really done wrong was not tell him before she started dating someone else. His best friend in college had pointed out that the absolute best revenge on being dumped was act like it hadn't really mattered at all.

Besides, he hadn't had the energy to jump up out of bed and scream out his hurt feelings. He was busy recuperating from a gunshot wound to the chest. And President Roslin had more than taken over for him in the glare department.

It had been rather sweet, really. The first time it had happened had been a few days into his enforced bedrest in the Galactica medbay. The President had been on her way in, and Dee on her way out. Things had been a little fuzzy – he'd still rated some of the few remaining narcotics at that point – but when Roslin had glided past his former girlfriend, he could have sworn he'd see Dee cower. Visibly.

The President is still overly cool when she gets Dee on the wireless. And he's comfortable enough in his limited spite to admit it gives him something of a warm fuzzy.

But all of that really doesn't matter. Dee didn't want to stay with him, so she didn't. He'd had a lot of time to think during the endless days in the Galactica sickbay, and then later during the sadistic rounds of physical therapy with one of the med techs.

Simply put, Dee wasn't the love of his life. She'd been the woman who'd _been there_ when the whole world had ended. Someone to cling to when everything else had been chaos. And he'd been that for her. Realistically, if they'd dated before the end of the world, he knows they'd have had a few good dates and amiably parted ways.

Dee wanted the broken hero. Billy was just a guy who got up and did what needed to be done. He didn't want to have a dramatic life... he just wanted a good one. And he wanted a partner who'd let him try and give her the world. Dee had never wanted that from him.

And that's okay.

Sighing a bit, Billy stretched in his chair. Arms over his head, he twisted and leaned, loosening up the kinks of too many hours spent hunched over paperwork.

"You're really too young to be spending so much time hunched over all those tiny details, Billy."

He started a little, then grinned. "Well, Madam President, if I could have a larger staff..."

Smiling herself, the President moved further into the cabin. She held two mugs of what he assumed was hot water with lemon, and set one down in front of him when she got close enough. She'd been doing things like that ever since Doc Cottle had cleared him to return to Colonial One on light duty. Making sure he ate, bringing him tea and water, and making sure to schedule most of her meetings in the main cabin where he could use one of the larger, lean-back seats and continue to take notes.

She also, schedule permitting, walked him through his continued physical therapy every day. He knows this is because she's terrified of losing him. He knows the feeling – remembers her paper-white face and weak croak of a voice all too well – and so he lets it pass. Accepts the mugs of whatever she brings him, and actually leans on her when everything hurts just a little too much.

"Oh, believe me, I've asked. Surprisingly, people are needed for other things than filing."

Billy snickered. "Really?"

The President grinned back and dropped into her chair. "Really. So. What did you think of that book I gave you? I saw you finished it earlier."

Relaxed, Billy leaned back and continued shifting to work out all the kinks. And he talked. This was another new thing between he and the President. She kept lending him books – he had rather specific ideas on where those came from as the only person in the fleet who had that complete a collection... well. They were a strange collection. Philosophy, art, fiction, and classic literature mixed with tactics treatises. Some of them, he'd read during school, others not.

And they talked about each and every one.

He finds it strange that his relationship with Dee crashed so soundly, his relationship with this woman grew ever stronger. Life was strange like that. Maybe the President had seen what was on the other side of her metaphorical fence and decided not to jump it.

Maybe the grass was greener for Dee. Billy likes this side just fine.

"I'm not sure about the voice in the opening chapter..."


	26. if only i could make you mine

26. if only I could make you mine

She'd been half in love with Billy Keikeya since the day he'd shown up on her doorstep and handed over her screeching, rather angry kitty. Fleur – the cat – had been stuck up a tree, and he'd climbed it to get her down.

She'd been ten, and he and his family had moved in next door two weeks previous.

Already gawky and nowhere near growing into his own feet, Billy'd almost thrown Fleur at her. He'd been covered in scratches and minor cuts. She knew only some of those had come from her cat, and when pressed, he'd admitted that he'd actually fallen off the last branch.

She'd invited him in for a soda and by the time he'd left, they'd discovered they were going to be in several of the same classes the coming year and had agreed to meet up for lunch.

By the time she'd turned sixteen, she'd been lovesick on him in every way possible. And his best friend. A buddy, or a convenient sounding board on a date gone wrong. She'd been good old Sophie, and let him believe that her boyfriend of the week was the reason she occasionally showed up on his bedroom floor and cried.

It wasn't great, but it had worked.

The day before she'd gone off to Gemenon Academy of Art, they'd taken a picnic out to one of their high school gathering places and gone swimming. They'd made a day of it, splashing and lounging and eating whenever they wanted to. Late in the day, just before they started packing, she'd looked over at him and almost done it. Almost leaned over and kissed him. Just once.

He'd been beautiful in the setting sun, a play in golds and yellows. His hair had been lighter because of the summer sun and the construction job his father had foisted on to him 'for his own good'. She'd wanted to touch him. To take this memory for herself because everything was going to be different when she got on that transport in the morning.

She hadn't though. Because it would have changed everything. It had been too late, so she hadn't bothered.

She kissed him goodbye the next day, on the cheek. Just a bus that was the same as it had been for the past eight years.

She'd never seen him, not in person, again.

She'd watched him on the fleet newscasts though. He was still beautiful and gawky. But he'd grown up. He'd somehow made a place for himself and survived. She hadn't tried to contact him for that very reason. He had other things to do. He'd _survived._

Until today.

She knows she's crying and that her roommate is giving her the weird eye, but all she can see is his name and a clip of his last press-conference flashing all over the colonial news.

She wishes she'd have kissed him under that Caprican sky. Now it's too late.


	27. overflow

27. Overflow

Billy is in the middle of fixing a six year-old's untied shoe when his internal dradis goes haywire. He jerks his head up and does a quick scan of his immediate area. Three little girls working on their homework at one of the long tables. A little boy and a little girl playing a game with a length of string near the tent flap. Two little boys doing an odd little dance while simultaneously trying to keep each other away from one of the classroom toys. A little boy... trying to pour a glass of juice from a jug half his size. Bingo.

Knowing that to yell would only startle the child – he really has no desire to spend the next fifteen minutes mopping up juice from the greater portion of the newly-laid floor – Billy straightens and moves as quickly as possible to lift the rather large container away from the boy. He is only moderately successful.

Just as he's about to reach out and take the jug, juice overflows onto the low table. John, the boy, squeaks unhappily and overcompensates, trying to lift it up and away. It's only Billy's proximity and quick reflexes that save him from that extended mopping job.

Luckily, the juice misses him and John, mostly splashing over the snack table.

"John..." Quickly, Billy recaps the jug, wipes the drips on the side with his hand, and sets it a bit away from the spillage. John merely waits for this to finish, looking more than a little distressed at being caught.

He sighs and stares down, and down, and down at John. Voice stern: "How many times have we told you to wait for someone to help you with drinks?"

Though he'll only admit it after hours and far away from the lessons tent, Billy thinks John is absolutely adorable when he knows he's in trouble. Maybe it's a sense of camaraderie – Gods know how many times he'd been reprimanded by his primary school teachers for running in before thinking – but it takes everything in him not to crack up at the sight of this little boy scuffing his shoe and staring very intently at the floor while trying to explain himself.

Quietly, the little boy replies, twisting his hands in front of him. "Lots of times, Mr. Billy."

"And did you wait?"

"No, Mr. Billy." The little voice definitely sounds on the verge of tears.

"Are you going to do it again?"

There is a sniffle and a mumble followed by a slight sob. Billy squats down to look the boy in the face. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

John ducks his head into his own shoulder and shrugs. His response, when it came is almost silent. "No, Mr. Billy."

"And you're going to help me clean this up so you'll remember this for next time, won't you John?"

That gets the boy's attention. Eyes bright he jerks his head up and stares at the older man before nodding quickly. Tears are streaked all over his face. Overall it is a rather pathetic picture. Then again, that can be said for most of their settlement.

Billy sighs and leans in to hug the boy. Back in the first few weeks of this job, low as anything after the loss of the Presidential election, he and Laura'd had a conversation about what a different experience teaching these children and teaching the ones back before the attack was.

"Before the attack," she'd said, her feet kicked up on a nearby box, her hands trying to work a kink in her neck out. "Before the attack, special-needs children were the aberration. Traumatized kids. Kids with learning disabilities. They were rare. These kids? Gods, Billy. I don't think we have a normal kid in the bunch."

And she'd been right. There is only one child in his entire class section that has both of her parents alive. John is one of the unluckier ones. Both of his parents died after the attacks.

"Gentleness, Billy," Laura had said. "Everyone needs gentleness. Especially these kids. Especially now."

Billy sighs a little and hugs the boy tight for a minute, brushing a reassuring kiss on his head. "Okay. Now. You go get the rags and I'll wait here."

Sniffling a little, John wipes his nose with the back of his hand before nodding. "Okay."

Billy smiles and gives him a light push in the right direction. On his way, the boy glances back and smiles timidly before heading towards the back of the tent and the collection of scavenged cleaning supplies.

Sure that John is going where he's supposed to go, Bill looks down at the damage. Not too bad. Oh, the glamorous life of a teacher's aide. Not even realizing he's smiling, Billy gets to work.


	28. building of bones

28. Building of bones

"So, if this were a real date instead of us coming up with an excuse to go make out, what would we be doing?"

Dee's eyes are big in the dark of her bunk. It's mid-shift, but she's been working doubles all week so that she can have rack time alone with Billy. It had taken a major feat of coordination, but the President is currently installed in a rather tedious strategy meeting with Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh, and he and Dee have at least two good hours before anyone comes in here.

They are taking shameless advantage.

He traces a finger over her brow and thinks. "I don't know. Assuming you'd have agreed to go out with a low-level bureaucratic aide like me," she laughs and swats him on the arm, "I'd have totally invited you to somewhere overly expensive trying to impress you."

"I would have hated that."

"Well, _that _was a first date. I'd like to think that I'd have picked up on your displeasure and dragged you to a hot dog stand or something."

Her lips are warm and quick on his. Absently, he wonders how she always manages to taste the way she does. Even when she's just had a sip of coffee, she still tastes good. And he hates coffee on people's breath.

"I like hot dogs," she murmurs into the side of his jaw, teeth nipping lightly. "They're not pretentious."

"Hey, I was trying to impress you there. Don't beat up on Billy who doesn't know Dee. Or her four different recipes for hotdog casserole."

"Don't knock the casseroles, Kiekeya."

He skims a finger over her neck, liking that she shivers just like that. "I never mock the casserole. My mother would have my head."

Her nibbling proceeded up his jaw and to one of his ears. Gods, she was good at that, he thought, shuddering and curving himself more tightly into her.

"So your mother taught you to respect the casserole?"

"And take pretty women to nice restaurants."

Her other hand was inside his shirt. His jacket and tie were discarded on a chair in the center of the room, and his button up was more button-down at the moment. Dee only had one tank on, and his hand was doing more than a little recon.

"Hmmm," she hummed in his ear. "So we would have gone for a hot dog. What then?"

He sighed and turned his head to kiss her again. Long and slow and hot, before pulling back and smiling. "A walk in the park, maybe. Somewhere quiet, just to talk. I'd ask you about your family."

She sobered for a second there, before softening. He wasn't surprised by it. Grief was almost normal these days. A constant state of being that couldn't change too much. Guilt and sincerity in equal parts kept tongues silent for the most part.

"I'd've asked about yours. And then mocked you for your debate prowess."

He laughs, pulling her back, tightly, to him. Feeling her nearby. Yes, this was still the beginning for them, but that was okay. They were learning each other. And frak if it wasn't fun.

"Well," he whispered into her hair, "I'd have let you."

"Then I'd have asked for a second date."

The only thing he could do was kiss her again.


	29. the sound of waves

29. the sound of waves

It was on his family's first vacation, ever, that Billy had his first kiss.

His parents had been saving since before he'd been born. His sisters reminded him of this constantly during the transport ride from Caprica City out to the mid-class Atheneum resort chain hotel settled on the shores of Treban Bay. The implication being that his late and rather unfortunate – in their opinion – arrival had stymied the plans for another ten years or so.

His mother had just rolled her eyes and pointed out the only reason they were going _that _summer was because Dad had unexpectedly been promoted. It hadn't helped his sisters' ribbing, but he will always remember that his mother never suffered cruelty or misinformation.

He has very few memories of the actual day-to-day events of that month-long summer excursion. Mostly, it's a series of impressions. His brother's whiny voice, rising over the bang of the bathroom door. His mother laughing at his sisters' screeching over the cold water. The way his father brushed a finger over the curve of his mother's cheek in the afternoon sun.

Little tiny memories that no one could ever take away.

But the big, huge, momentous thing that he remembers is standing on the little strip of beach attached to the resort and feeling Jun-mei Tanner's lips touch his own.

Jun-mei's family had moved in to the other half of the beach house he and his family had rented after their first week. He'd been a little jealous at first, knowing that while he had to share one of the three bedrooms with his brother, Jun-mei had had her pick, given that she was an only child.

They'd gotten on okay once introduced properly. Point of fact, he knows that she was the first girl he'd ever looked at and mentally let himself say, "Maybe..."

Her lips had been soft against his own. Different. Just a gentle pressure that wasn't entirely different from when his mother had bussed him before bed.

But standing there, listening to the beat of the waves against the shore, feeling the warmth of the setting sun on his face, it hadn't felt like his mother kissing him. It had been Jun-mei.


	30. kiss

30. kiss

It's pretty much every day that Billy wakes up wishing the worlds hadn't exploded. This does not surprise him at all. Before civilization as everyone had known it went kaboom, Billy'd had a good job, a promising future, and a completely private apartment.

Well, he _would_ have had a completely private apartment within three months of becoming the secretary of Education's personal aide. He'd already told both of his roommates that he was looking and that they'd needed to find someone else to move in.

Most days, he wakes up wishing the worlds hadn't been bombed because it's a tragedy for human existence, they're running for their lives, everyone's going to die, etc. It's becoming the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up. He's also pretty sure everyone else thinks that way too.

But some days... some days he wakes up and wishes to the Gods that everything hadn't gone to the three hells because he really, _really_ wants some godsdamn privacy.

"Mmmm. I am really, really glad you took me up on this." Dee's voice in his ear is warm and amused. He can't help but smile at it before leaning in and kissing her deeply, keeping his eyes shut against the sight of the rest of the room. It's a rather well-used utility closet down the corridor from the medbay. Dee'd dragged him in fifteen minutes after her shift had ended and roughly six minutes after President Roslin had given him an amused smirk and assured him that no, she didn't need him in _this_ specific meeting with the Commander.

"Me too." Finally he leans back and opens his eyes. Dee's cheeks are flushed and she is grinning at him. "You are so amazing."

She laughs, stands up on her toes and pulls him down for another long, warm kiss. Her tongue is warm and sweet under his own, happily aggressive in taking exactly what it wants from him.

"And you," she whispers against his clavicle, "are too easily amazed."

He shudders and holds her a little bit tighter. He thinks he's getting better about just doing, rather than asking for permission. Billy leans down and just breathes her in. He thinks he loves her.

"No." His voice is strong in the darkened room. "You're just wonderful."

-fin-

_And so, there's that. Thanks to everyone who's read all of these. Billy is My Boy and I thought he needed some more fic. Thanks for reading!_


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